07-26-2019, 11:03 AM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
He wants her to acknowledge the pain, to writhe beneath the blood rivulets and seethe at the touch of air against muscle. It would offer him satisfaction, but Mary is keen to remain stoic. She, like the stubborn woman she is, refuses to buckle beneath him and give him an ounce of glory.
But he’s never really found glory in harming others, not when it can be avoided – especially toward women.
There’s a fleeting moment of regret when Castile’s intense stare climbs to the punctures on Mary’s neck. They hold his attention for a heartbeat before his gaze slips to her face just as she snorts in opposition. A short, indignant laugh slips unbidden past his lips. Silence wraps around him just before the woman turns her head to regard him, remaining somewhat poised even with a barbed tongue. He listens when it would be easier to scoff and dismiss her. A brow lifts at first but settles as he mulls over everything that is roughly spilled between them. No sense crying over spilt milk, but there is also blood.
It takes so much of his energy to remain motionless, to not crumble at the whim of his predatory nature.
(Break her)
The voice tries to speak up again, to poison Castile’s mind, but somehow he remains steadfast within Mary’s spotlight. An indication of his distaste is the snarl that lifts his lips and the cold stare that meets hers. ”Did I now?” Suddenly, the malicious expression is replaced by borderline amusement. ”News to me.” She is so convinced, so blinded, by her fallen hellhound. Castile nearly chuckles, but swallows it down due to the seriousness of the conversation. ”Hell no, I didn’t trust you and Sinner. Why would I based on how you acted during our first meeting? You never gave me a reason to believe or trust you, but as long as you stayed in your lane, I wasn’t going to take your little throne. I was fine to let you have it and do as you will, but the second you stood against us in Tephra, I regretted not following my gut. I regretted giving you two the benefit of the doubt.” He edges closer. The unnatural heat of his skin flares against her as fire roils in his gut. ”You did this to your own damned self,” he pauses as he straightens himself and subtly inclines his head, ”I’m surprised someone of your stature would follow the idiocy of a mutt. Shame. Look where it put you.” He looks around the forest blandly.
Castile threatens to leave her here in the forest, stripped of everything she has ever known. His mismatched eyes find the trail he emerged from and he takes a step in the direction before hesitating and looking at her. ”I’ve taken your home from you once, Mary, don’t make me do it again,” a slow, gradual scrutiny traces along her body, ”or anything worse.” No, he would never rape her – that is an act far beneath him that he would never venture toward. No child deserves to be thrusted into a world under such conditions (he abruptly thinks of Sochi and the life growing within her).
Weary from her stubbornness, Castile’s voice lowers but never softens. It remains sharply edged. ”I don’t think you’d recognize mercy and kindness from me even if it smacked you in the face, Mary. I will treat you as a reflection of how you treat me. Got it?” His tongue glides contemplatively across his lips. ”I’ve shown you a small peek at how I can ruin you as your enemy. I suggest you reconsider your standings with me.”
But he’s never really found glory in harming others, not when it can be avoided – especially toward women.
There’s a fleeting moment of regret when Castile’s intense stare climbs to the punctures on Mary’s neck. They hold his attention for a heartbeat before his gaze slips to her face just as she snorts in opposition. A short, indignant laugh slips unbidden past his lips. Silence wraps around him just before the woman turns her head to regard him, remaining somewhat poised even with a barbed tongue. He listens when it would be easier to scoff and dismiss her. A brow lifts at first but settles as he mulls over everything that is roughly spilled between them. No sense crying over spilt milk, but there is also blood.
It takes so much of his energy to remain motionless, to not crumble at the whim of his predatory nature.
(Break her)
The voice tries to speak up again, to poison Castile’s mind, but somehow he remains steadfast within Mary’s spotlight. An indication of his distaste is the snarl that lifts his lips and the cold stare that meets hers. ”Did I now?” Suddenly, the malicious expression is replaced by borderline amusement. ”News to me.” She is so convinced, so blinded, by her fallen hellhound. Castile nearly chuckles, but swallows it down due to the seriousness of the conversation. ”Hell no, I didn’t trust you and Sinner. Why would I based on how you acted during our first meeting? You never gave me a reason to believe or trust you, but as long as you stayed in your lane, I wasn’t going to take your little throne. I was fine to let you have it and do as you will, but the second you stood against us in Tephra, I regretted not following my gut. I regretted giving you two the benefit of the doubt.” He edges closer. The unnatural heat of his skin flares against her as fire roils in his gut. ”You did this to your own damned self,” he pauses as he straightens himself and subtly inclines his head, ”I’m surprised someone of your stature would follow the idiocy of a mutt. Shame. Look where it put you.” He looks around the forest blandly.
Castile threatens to leave her here in the forest, stripped of everything she has ever known. His mismatched eyes find the trail he emerged from and he takes a step in the direction before hesitating and looking at her. ”I’ve taken your home from you once, Mary, don’t make me do it again,” a slow, gradual scrutiny traces along her body, ”or anything worse.” No, he would never rape her – that is an act far beneath him that he would never venture toward. No child deserves to be thrusted into a world under such conditions (he abruptly thinks of Sochi and the life growing within her).
Weary from her stubbornness, Castile’s voice lowers but never softens. It remains sharply edged. ”I don’t think you’d recognize mercy and kindness from me even if it smacked you in the face, Mary. I will treat you as a reflection of how you treat me. Got it?” His tongue glides contemplatively across his lips. ”I’ve shown you a small peek at how I can ruin you as your enemy. I suggest you reconsider your standings with me.”
castile
@[Mary]